So who wants to talk about or think about or read about or be reminded about a cemetery? Well, this may be shorter than longer. 

On the way downtown last week, I decided to visit by my Dad, my Grandpa and Grandma's modest, inset grave sites. It had been 9 months or so and much longer before that (my funny, interesting Dad passed 7 years ago). 

I had never been a fan of or thought much of visiting family grave sites, but I was talking to a guy - a company contact - and we were wrapping up a call when I asked what he was doing for Memorial Day. He said, "Oh, my Dad and I are bringing a grill, chairs and garden tools to my Grandpa's grave, fix it up, put up some balloons and hang out there for a couple hours." I was surprised and very impressed. Doing something like that never happened in our family or in any of my old friends families. 

So I brought a Nalgene bottle of water, gloves, a hand saw, a spray cleaner and a beer. I couldn't believe how shabby each looked. Like long grass hair had over taken the marble faces. 

It felt very satisfying to dig out the excess grass, twigs and debris that had accumulated there. I cleaned up their neighbors too, a couple and a single woman's site. Their neighborhood was much more current and dialed in.

Ok, so that 'logistics' of sorts. As I was cleaning, digging and wiping, memories from years gone by bubbled up. These were Big Personalities. My Grandpa told a mob Hitman to take a hike and never come back to the car dealership where my Grandpa worked and was drafted as a catcher by the White Sox in the late 1930s, his older brother James tragically died in a convertible car accident at age 24. Boat loads of stories and my Grandma played semi-pro basketball.

My Dad was the master, frequent joke teller, which he inherited from his Dad. I don't possess that 'dying' skill. 

Crouching there or standing up to stretch my back and take a sip of water or beer, I really noticed the winds going through the trees, and the birds chirping and fluttering about. I noticed movement, and then zero movement, movements, to none. I felt extra alive. 

Pay attention to being alive. 
Pay...attention...to being alive. 
Deeply appreciate being alive. 
Within this crazy, undulating world. 

It felt good to Walk to my car, put my hands on the steering wheel, look over at them (where are they, really..?) and be able to drive where I wanted to. Knock...on...Wood 🪵

Because there are between 20,000 and 24,000 distinct human diseases and afflictions, with medical registries adding roughly 3 to 5 newly categorized conditions every single week. I haven't had one to date? 
I cemetery makes you think differently. I personally need reminders. I don't want to truly, deeply have that 'moment' of clarity where I recognize at 78, "holy shit, I'm so lucky to have been alive." I'll take it but I also want to feel that peppered through the moments of waiting to turn left at a stop light on a Tuesday, en route to the grocery store. 

I'm alive now.